


carnation pink

by star_child



Series: pastels [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Character, Dancing, M/M, Making Out, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, Slow Build, Suicide Attempt, it's only discussed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 20:29:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14859743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_child/pseuds/star_child
Summary: kenma first finds him at one twenty six in the morning.





	1. sugar on the asphalt

**Author's Note:**

> THIRD QUARTER MOODBOARD/VENT FIC
> 
> **WARNINGS**  
>  most of these are vague/mentioned in passing bc this whole things is quite vague but i don't want you to be caught off guard also i PROMISE this is not quite as sad as it seems??? kind of???  
> \- substance abuse  
> \- alcohol abuse  
> \- kuroo is korean that's not a warning just be aware  
> \- very vague mentions of what could be an eating disorder  
> \- self harm  
> \- breakdowns  
> \- depression?  
> \- lev  
> \- discussions of bullying  
> \- discussions of suicide attempt  
> \- minor child neglect  
> \- it's not really. i don't wanna call it self inflicted corrective rape bc that's not what it is and that sounds so awful and has no good implications but i really can't think of a better way to say it and it's only discussed so.
> 
> this really doesn't make any sense but i've had a rough few months and wrote this almost exclusively on my phone when i was drunk and/or high and then found time to edit when i was sober so. apologies in advance

a1.

kenma first finds him at one twenty six in the morning.

he's crouched beside a low wall to the right of a campus dorm building, and kenma’s first thought is to wonder why he's sitting on the ground instead of on the wall.

“it feels better,” is what the man replies when he asks. he's wearing red and gold shoes, and when he stands up kenma takes a step back. his legs unfold until he towers above kenma.

he holds out a hand, bearing a lopsided smile and the strong smell of weed. “kuroo tetsurou.”

 

a2.

kuroo finds him at eleven forty one at night.

the lights of the party pulse around them, staining kenma carnation pink and a mottled, muddy, rotten green. smoke fills the air in a shroud.

“hey,” kuroo says.

kenma only nods.

“you don't seem like the party type.” red sunglasses sit in kuroo’s hair – at least kenma thinks they're red – and the lenses absorb all the crazy lights like black holes. he wonders if putting them on would get rid of this pounding headache. when he doesn't respond, only keeps swaying, kuroo switches tactics. “do you wanna dance?”

kenma only nods.

he's pulled to his feet and lead through the shifting crowd. the bodies around him shift and drag, smelling of weed and cheap vodka and cigarettes, and kenma wonders what life would look like if his heart could pound as hard as the bass. a little brighter, maybe.

there's a gap in the crowd. this is where kuroo stops, puts his hands on his waist, starts to sway. kenma remembers with a shock that the shirt he's wearing ends above his belly button, and kuroo’s hands are warm and light on his sides, the pressure almost enough for him to focus on, but not quite. so he puts his arms around kuroo's neck and drags him closer, desperate to be enveloped in his heat, in his own smoke screen.

“it's good to see you,” kuroo murmurs into his ear.

kenma only nods, hopes it's enough to say that it's good to see him too.

 

a3.

bokuto thinks he's being clever, when he introduces them.

it's nine eighteen in the morning, and kenma is still high from last night. doesn't know if he's slept.

they're sitting in a diner – doesn't know how he got here – and kuroo is most definitely hungover. the red sunglasses are still there, on his face this time, and a sunken frown has made a home on his lips. kenma remembers how they felt, feather soft against the shell of his ear.

beside him, akaashi deftly slices apart a chocolate chip waffle, habitually setting aside a quarter for kenma to pick at as he wishes.

across from him, bokuto settles a hand on kuroo's shoulder. “kenma,” he announces, as though he is something grand, “this is my roommate. kuroo –”

“tetsurou,” kenma finishes. “we’ve met.”

“several times,” kuroo adds.

bokuto lets out an offended whine.

akaashi chokes on his tea.

it's the first thing to make a smile tick at kuroo’s lips, and kenma can't help but grin at him like an idiot.

“i wanted to be the one to start it,” bokuto groans, slumping into the table. “who beat me?”

“what?” kuroo snaps. living with him has done nothing to help him understand bokuto’s vague way of speaking, only made it all the more irritating.

“he means who introduced you, if it wasn't him,” akaashi translates. kenma wonders if this is the only purpose akaashi serves to their group, then immediately discards the idea as he pinches a corner of the waffle he's been left.

“he found me,” kuroo says, tilting a smile toward kenma. “then i found him.”

kenma chews slowly on his waffle, staring at kuroo like a dumbass because he's forgotten that he's a human with a body. akaashi elbows him in the ribs.

“oh. yes.” he swallows the waffle. “yeah he was… sitting on the ground. the first time.”

“on the ground?”

“he said it felt better.”

“i was really fucking high.”

bokuto wags his finger, pretending to be something akin to a disappointed parent.

“hey!” kuroo jumps to defend himself. “i found kenma last night baked out of his fucking mind, alone at some party.”

“hey  _ ssshhhhh!!” _ kenma hisses, lurching over the table to wave his arms in kuroo's face. the older boy leans back, unimpressed.

“kenma!” akaashi admonishes, and kenma groans. “you said you don't like being high.”

“it's hit or miss,” he mumbles, feeling like akaashi is something akin to a disappointed parent.

“last time you said you felt like throwing up the whole way to class, slept for the entire two hours, and had a headache that got steadily worse for the rest of the night until you had a migraine.”

kuroo whistles low, the sound like glass in his ears.

“that was  _ last  _ time,” kenma mumbles.

“the time before that,” bokuto cuts in, “i listened to you babble that you couldn't talk for a minute straight, then you zoned out for an hour and admitted the next day that you didn't remember the  _ entire  _ rest of the night. like we got dinner. we hung out.”

“why are we picking on me? you wanted me to meet kuroo. this is a horrible first impression.”

kuroo almost-laughs. kenma almost-smiles. akaashi frowns at each of them, but refrains from sharing another story.

“considering we only meet when we’re fucked up,” kuroo starts, “i can really only assume that’s just life for you. it is for me.”

“shit just be like that sometimes,” kenma mumbles in agreement. his attention has been caught by a wind chime outside, glaringly bright and swaying unnaturally. kuroo laughs, muffled as he ducks his head to run his fingers through inky hair.

then kuroo says something. the sounds feel familiar, but the order they're in makes absolutely no sense. bokuto replies accordingly, and kenma blows out a confused breath, eyes wide.

“what's the matter?” akaashi murmurs.

“hey, so listen,” kenma starts, trying to play his shaking hands off as casual. “i think i'm still really high.”

akaashi raises one delicate, unimpressed eyebrow. “what makes you say that?”

gesturing a weak hand to the two across the table, kenma whispers, “don't understand japanese anymore. try english? say something to me in english.”

much to kenma’s indignant disbelief, akaashi only rolls his eyes. “kenma, they're speaking korean.”

“...they're speaking what?”

“korean,” akaashi sighs. “kuroo is korean, did you not notice?”

“oh.” kenma studies him. his eyes curve soft, jaw rounded and fitting more naturally around the indistinct words leaving his lips. now that he thinks about it, he supposes kuroo does have a bit of an accent. then again, he's only met him twice, and there were minimal words exchanged. “i guess i didn't. but why does koutarou…?”

akaashi just shrugs. “bokuto-san has always been good at learning languages. he was kuroo-san’s host in high school, and he just thought having someone to speak with in his native language would make it easier.”

“make…  _ what  _ easier?”

“kuroo was an exchange student in high school,” akaashi explains shortly. he aggressively forks another bite of waffle. “moved here for college.”

kenma sits in silence for a few moments, lets the information bury itself in his mind.

“so i can still understand japanese?”

* * *

b1.

kenma finds him at four eighteen in the morning.

he's been stalking kuroo's bitmoji location for the last twenty minutes, as per his request, but he keeps moving. not much, but enough for kenma to get huffy.

_ i'm right on top of you,  _ kenma texts, staring in confusion. he's standing in a parking garage, wonders if kuroo's snapchat is bugging out and putting him in the wrong place.

but then his phone dings with a response –  _ top floor _ – and kenma heads for the elevator.

(the brightness of it is jarring, washed out yellow and gray, and kenma turns his back to the one mirrored wall.)

when he emerges on the top floor, kuroo is lurking in the one shadowy corner beside what must be his car – a beat up old black mazda – and fucking around with something in his hands. kenma hears a grinder, is not so tired and drunk that he can't smell the weed. he makes his way unsteadily across the concrete.

“hey, you,” kuroo grins, shaking the ground weed into his bowl.

“what are you doing up here?”

kuroo doesn't respond, just winks, taps his watch, lifts the bowl, and lights up.

kenma checks his own watch, confused until his eyes focus enough to read the little white pixels.

_ 4:20 am _

“why are you… up here?”

kuroo lifts the bowl as an answer, too busy coughing to speak the words,  _ what does it look like? _

“i mean –” kenma huffs in annoyance. “why are you up  _ here? _ there are better places to smoke.”

“yeah?” kuroo coughs again, takes a swig of gatorade. “where?”

“i always go to the beach.”

“and how do you get to the beach?”

kenma shrugs, stumbling over nothing and then sitting down abruptly. “people drive me.”

“uh huh.” more coughing. “you want some?”

“i'm drunk.”

“the question stands.”

in the distance, the moon dwindles on the skyline, painting them in a silvery haze. kenma hiccups, yawns, and shakes his head. he's getting cold now that he's stopped moving, and he shuffles closer to kuroo on instinct, remembering him to be warm. if kuroo notices, he doesn't say anything for a good minute. instead he takes another hit off his bowl, coughing away, chugging gatorade.

when he's emptied the bowl over the edge, he finally comes back to notice kenma shivering, fingers white around his phone.

“oh, hold on, babe,” he mumbles, and kenma is drunk enough to be pleased. kuroo digs through his backseat, pushing aside a selection of jackets before he comes up with what he's apparently been looking for. “here.”

the hoodie he hands kenma has seen better days. maybe the colors had been bright once, maybe they hadn't, but the thick, vertical stripes are muted️, dirty yellow, red, and green. it smells like weed and pine trees and laundry, and despite having dug it up from the back of the car, it feels freshly washed, the fabric thin and well worn and soft.

“an old favorite,” kuroo nods when kenma has it settled over his stick and bone frame. “suits you.”

(kenma only nods.)

they sit huddled in the corner for another forty minutes. when kenma almost smacks his head into the concrete due to his exhausted swaying, he has half a second warning when kuroo grins before he's reaching over. both of them are fucked-up-clumsy, loose wristed and stumbling, but kuroo coerces him to sit between his legs, back against his chest as he curls his whole body around kenma. kenma lifts his head enough to bury his nose against the skin of kuroo's collarbone, his torn shirt falling away enough to expose it. kenma dozes.

when the sky goes from black to gray to orange, kuroo does his best to lift them both without waking kenma. he doesn't quite succeed, but he manages to lay kenma down in the smokey backseat, head pillowed on the other jackets.

“where we goin?” kenma mumbles. he's reached a corner between drunk and sleep deprived simply labeled ‘incoherent,’ and he’ll question when he wakes if he dreamed this part. but in the moment he's half capable of keeping himself together.

“my place okay?” kuroo asks as he reverses out of the spot, going slow through the high.

kenma mumbles his assent, buries his nose in weed and pine and laundry until kuroo carries him up to his shared apartment.

at two pm, kenma wakes up with his nose pressed to kuroo's bare shoulder, soft snores and afternoon sunlight filling the room.

 

b2.

kuroo finds him, for once, at one fifteen in the afternoon.

sunlight paints tokyo gold, dragging even the most shut-in kids on campus out to enjoy the warmth and the light. kuroo is one such of these kids, meandering down the main street in wine colored jeans as he debates crashing bokuto and akaashi's date.

as he's passing the library, he catches sight of kenma, sitting on the steps out front.

“hey,” he says, tapping kenma's foot with his own.

the boy’s head shoots up, wide eyes locking on kuroo's face and peeling him away layer by layer. “hello.”

“good to see you… during the day.”

“been in the library since it opened.”

kuroo frowns, checks his watch. “damn, how long –”

“it opens at seven,” kenma cuts him off, and kuroo leans in to peer at him. kenma doesn't break eye contact, doesn't even blink.

“are you okay? are you like, on something?”

between a shaky laugh and even shakier fingers, kenma launches into his story. “well, shouyou came over last night so i could buy some adderall off him, and then he wanted to get drunk, but i was tired, so i mixed it with a monster, and then i didn't sleep, so i headed up here when it opened and took the adderall and did um… all of my homework for the past week and upcoming… couple of days.”

kuroo frowns. “you mixed alcohol and monster? that's really bad for you.”

“so?”

“kids die from that. it gives you like, heart palpitations.”

kenma fixes him with another stare, and kuroo shudders when he whispers, “so?”

trying to ignore the weight in  _ that, _ kuroo holds out his hand. “come on. come get lunch with me.” it's almost as if kenma is being fast forwarded, the hasty way he takes kuroo's hand and stands, grabs his bag, falls into step beside him. “are you… sure you're feeling okay? should you have all this in your system at once? have you eaten?”

“you wanna take me to get my stomach pumped?” kenma snaps. then, “i hope you're paying.”

“sure,” kuroo says offhandedly, “my treat.”

kenma huffs in surrender, grip tightening on kuroo's hand as they start walking.

“you're holding my hand now?” kuroo tries to tease. “i guess you're not really mad at me.”

he stomps his foot like a little kid. “i'm going to fall if i let go.” with that said, he holds on tight for the rest of the walk.

kuroo takes them to a little organic cafe, laughing at the way kenma's nose wrinkles in distaste. “akaashi drags us here when it's his turn to choose where we go. he likes to eat healthy.”

“psychopath,” kenma hisses as he digs his heels into the ground.

“come  _ on,”  _ kuroo laughs. he tugs at kenma's grip, “i promise it's good.”

“healthy just means leaves!”

“no it doesn’t. kenma! just come inside, you have to eat something.”

pouting and huffing in just-for-show disagreement, kenma picks up his feet and marches inside behind kuroo. he frowns at the menu for the entire six and a half minutes they stand in line before only ordering a strawberry and banana smoothie.

“that’s all you’re going to get?”

kenma shrugs, looking away almost as if he’s embarrassed, and mumbles to the walls, “if i eat anything else i’ll probably throw it up.”

kuroo retakes his hand. “that been happening a lot?”

“guess so. sometimes it just hurts.”

“maybe we  _ should  _ get your stomach pumped,” he tries to tease. they collect their orders from the counter, find a seat in the quiet corner filled with maple wood furniture. kenma centers his drink over the only knoll in the table and doesn't touch it again.

 

b3.

despite constant insistence that it's not, kenma is almost ninety percent certain he's been dragged into a double date.

it's eight fourteen in the evening, and he's sitting, yet again, at a four person table, looking across at kuroo. he doesn't know how he got there, but only because akaashi woke him up roughly forty seconds before they left. he has vague memories from the past half hour of being mildly scolded for falling asleep after akaashi had gotten him ready, wrinkling his shirt and mussing up his hair. kenma figures, what's the point? kuroo sees him looking like trash all the time. almost exclusively, in fact.

but he'd apologized to akaashi anyway, tried to fix his hair in the fluorescent bathroom upon arrival. if the way kuroo is staring at him is anything to go by, he’s done a good job.

it had taken akaashi twenty four minutes of digging through kenma’s trashed dorm room before he'd been able to unearth a clean button up shirt. it was wrinkled and fairly ugly, kenma had always thought, but akaashi made quick work of it. within a few minutes it's ironed and fresh, and akaashi pairs the red flannel with black jeans that he cuffs to match the shirt sleeves.

kenma had even let him take a couple swipes with the eyeliner, making his gold irises glint and glow.

“ethereal,” akaashi had proudly declared him.

“pretty sexy,” bokuto had passively agreed.

“you look beautiful,” is what kuroo finally gasps at him, breathless and beaming.

kenma blushes, tucking shining gold hair behind his ear as bokuto and akaashi smirk victorious at each other.

“you look, um, you too,” kenma mumbles back, sufficiently embarrassed by the way kuroo's been purposely stretching his arms to pull the open buttons of his shirt wider. black cloth hugs his entire body, save for those red and gold shoes he spotted as he sat down, and kenma can't stop staring. the outfit leaves nothing to the imagination.

dinner is a blur of speaking too quickly to the waitress and too much sauce on his fish, picking at his own food and stealing bites of kuroo's. bokuto makes awful jokes and kuroo snorts sake out of his nose, akaashi gives them Looks for acting so wild in a nice restaurant, but is too tired of the antics to try to put a stop to it.

at one point the waitress starts flirting with kuroo and kenma feels his stomach turn over, another reminder of his too thin thighs and razor wire ribs, of his fat face and titled teeth and smudged skin –

“i'm on a date, actually, so…” is what snaps kenma back to the table. kuroo is nervously holding a piece of paper by the very edge, like it's toxic, and kenma realizes it has the waitress’ phone number on it. she's flushed crimson down to her toes, half stumbling through bows and apologies for the lack of professionalism.

kenma isn't listening.

he's on a  _ date,  _ actually, so…

he spends the rest of the night blushing like the waitress, feeling like flowers are blooming between his fingers.

* * *

c1.

kenma finds him at one thirty eight in the morning, right at the center of everything, where he’s expected to be. the club around them does not feel like parties do, in his experience. this is slower, heavier, more grinding and maturity.

kuroo is dancing alone.

when his eyes fall on kenma he stops, standing still and being stepped on, elbows and shoulders connecting with his ribs. he's grinning ear to ear.

it takes a final shove from a stranger to push them together, limbs immediately tangled as they undulate. kuroo's face flashes red blue and hazy in the light, eyes clouded as they stare adoringly at kenma.

“i can't believe you're here,” kuroo rumbles in his ear, head heavy on his shoulder. unlike when they met at the party, there is no hesitation when his hands wrap around kenma's exposed waist. they catch on his spine, hot and dry and oh so soft. “you're really here.”

kenma doesn't hesitate either, shoves his hands right under kuroo's shirt instead of dancing around it, instead of wasting anymore  _ time. _ it's been a waltz for weeks. now is the time to  _ dance. _

bass pounds through kenma's bones, and he reaches up and snatches the red sunglasses right out of kuroo's hair, placing them over his eyes. red and blue become a collage of purple, kuroo the only thing he can see somewhat clearly.

“kenma, dance with me,” kuroo mumbles. so he does. throwing his arms around kuroo's neck, kenma presses their bodies together, sliding between kuroo’s legs and rolling with butterfly hips. kuroo gasps out a few swears in slurred korean before his lips sear into existence beneath kenma's jaw, pressing and wet and hands down  _ magical. _ kenma scratches at kuroo's back under his shirt, keening in his ear and shaking because never in his twenty years of life has kenma been burned quite like this.

but he has been burned before.

in a rare moment of sobriety, kenma starts to pull away, only to find that they've been moved to the edge of the floor, and his back hits the painted brick of a wall. kuroo follows for a burning moment, mouthing against his pulse until kenma pushes him away by the chest.

“what's wrong?” kuroo gasps, hands immediately flying back to his sides. “did i do something wrong?”

kenma means to answer coherently. he means to explain, in the middle of this dark and blaring club, why he did that. instead, he shouts back, “please don't burn me.”

it seems to be enough.

kuroo’s expression sobers. he holds out his hands as the song starts to switch, slowing into something almost sinful. it's an invitation. kenma takes it.

back against kuroo's chest, kenma hears him whisper. “i've got you, baby. you're all right now, i'll never hurt you.” kenma closes his eyes, lets the words seep into his skin like something soothing.

 

c2.

kuroo finds him at eleven thirty six pm, and it is not a pretty sight.

kenma is bleeding. he's sitting naked on the floor of his shower, wailing out an ache, with deep scratches raked across his thighs. the water on the floor around him bleeds pretty carnation pink, the color of parties and watermelon soda, not… this.

kuroo shouts a swear in his wiry korean, rushes forward to take kenma's face in his hands. “baby what's wrong?” he demands over the roar of the shower, “what's the matter, what happened, what – what can i do?”

kenma shakes his face free, curls up and lets out another broken screech when the movement sparks pain across his legs. in the end he pushes himself across the shower, away from kuroo, still blubbering and sobbing an awful mess. his hair is stuck to his face, the water running as cold as his hands.

with soaked knees and shaking fingers, he calls akaashi.

first it's yelled directions.

  1. don't let go of his hands.
  2. leave him wherever he is.
  3. let him know you're not leaving.



kuroo gets the shower turned off, strips off his shirt and jeans and makes room for himself in the small space. he sits behind kenma, grabs hold of two long sharp wrists, and holds on. the boy thrashes and kicks, the wails turning to shrieks as he knocks everything over.

kuroo’s words range all the way from whispers to shouts, a steady mantra of, “i’ve got you, i’m right here, you’re with me, you’re not alone.”

when kenma is silent, no longer screaming, when the bleeding has stopped, it's more directions, quieter. instructions.

  1. get him out of the shower, get him dry.
  2. find him some underwear.
  3. clean his legs, use cotton balls not a rag, there is gauze below the sink.
  4. when it's wrapped securely, get him bokuto’s old shirt.
  5. let him sleep.



kuroo does as he's told, then does one better, gives kenma his own shirt. lies in bed and holds him through the tremors. after an hour he calls akaashi back.

it's a wide explanation.

“kenma gets… low sometimes,” he murmurs through the static. kuroo hums. “he's improved since we left home, i'll give him that, but there's no denying it. he doesn't know how to… deal with things. process his emotions in a way that doesn't involve being some form of capital f Fucked Up.”

“i've noticed.”

the line buzzes with quiet static for a moment, and then akaashi whispers, “he's been sober for six days, now. straight. it's a record, to be honest with you.”

“...oh.”

“what he's probably experiencing is withdrawals.” akaashi’s voice slips into that professional tone, that ‘i'm a pre-med and you've been able to tell my entire life’ way of talking that kuroo came to despise back in high school. it was the mark of kids who thought they were Better. but akaashi only wants the best for his friends.

“withdrawals,” kuroo parrots, “yeah.”

“he's still running from it, you know. this is the only way he knows how.”

“running from… what, exactly?”

quiet static. “it's not my place to say. he'll tell you, when he's ready. try not to pry, or it will take longer.”

“okay. anything else?” beside him, kenma makes a small noise, some hiccuping gasp, before he falls silent again, hands clenched into fists. kuroo gently works his fingers apart as his listens to akaashi.

“just stay with him until… well the rest of the night, i suppose. it's late. get breakfast with him tomorrow and – do you have his number?”

“i have his snapchat?”

“i'll text it to you. call him a few times after you leave – if you leave. talk to him for a bit.”

“okay.”

“okay. you can take it from here?”

kuroo reaches out to run his fingers through kenma’s cornsilk hair. “i think so.”

“goodnight, kuroo-san.”

“goodnight, akaashi.”

kuroo lies down beside kenma, wrapping him up in his arms. they both sleep until morning.

 

c3.

“i think you should talk to kuroo,” akaashi whispers.

it’s three seventeen am, and kenma is drunk again. swaying between constellations, he turns slowly to blink at akaashi. “should what?”

akaashi reaches out, nudges him in the shin with his owl socks. “talk to him. tell him. he likes you.”

kenma’s head rolls on his neck, back to staring across the room at kuroo and bokuto playing beer pong and shouting in korean. “i like him too,” he admits to the air.

“you told me about the club. and he called me last night.”

his hands flinch over the bandages kuroo had wrapped around his thighs before he drove them back to his apartment to drink with bokuto. “oh.”

akaashi waits for more. when all that's offered is silence, he sighs. “think about it.”


	2. glitter in the topsoil

a1.

kenma finds him at ten fifty one pm.

“you have a  _ job?” _

“uhh, yeah?” kuroo says, fiddling with his uniform hat. “how do you think i pay for all that shit i do?”

kenma shrugs, gripping the edge of the greasy counter until his knuckles go white. “people just give it to me for free.”

“we can't all be as cute as you, kenma,” he drawls.

kenma's neck heats up through the annoyance coursing through him. it's not at kuroo, though, it's at –

“kenma-san, there you are!” branch arms wrap around kenma's shoulders, and it takes everything in him not physically shove other boy away.

as it is, he grinds out, “get  _ off _ me, lev,” through metal gear teeth, the urge to push him positively  _ writhing _ beneath his skin.

lev just laughs, holds on another moment before slipping off. kenma's eyes nearly bug out of his head in fury, and he gives kuroo a look screaming  _ do something. help me. _

“kenma, i think i have something of yours in my car. come with me?”

kuroo is a saint.

flashing orange from the streetlights, kuroo holds kenma's hand on the console between them and speaks. “you're just lucky i haven't taken my break yet, aren't you? huh? lucky i like you so much. and to think, i spend my precious hour off driving around the city, doing favors for some little punk who's way too high –”

“i am  _ not _ way too high,” kenma grumbles. “that kid has shit weed. i'm kinda high, and i'm just pissed off.”

they stop at a red light. “what were you doing with him anyway?”

kenma takes a deep breath, trying to fill his shuddering lungs with enough air to explain in as few words as possible. “lev is in one of my classes. he's always asking me to hang out, but i'm usually with shouyou or keiji or something, and i say no, but he keeps snapchatting me anyway. like i'm missing some grand thing, when he's just sitting on the floor listening to bad music.”

“alone?”

“with like, one or two other people.” kenma stares at their linked fingers. when did kuroo's hand even find his? why does it feel as natural as blooming? “tonight he offered to smoke me up, and i wasn't going to say no when it was free, was i? but it just turned out to be a hassle.”

“you think everything is a hassle,” kuroo reminds him with a quiet smile. the light changes, turning kuroo's face from watery red to jewel green.

kenma shrugs. “i suppose. but i found out when we were in the car that he hadn't even picked up yet. we left the dorms at  _ seven.” _

“when did you smoke?”

“literally half an hour before i walked in. spent that half an hour listening to shitty death metal, lev makes me want to tear my hair out.”

kenma's complaints continue, the wind pulling them out the window with the soft radio and the smell of weed and pine. kuroo laughs and rubs his knuckles, drives slow enough that the story has enough time to end before they're pulling to a stop in front of kenma's building.

with the car in park, they just sit there for a moment. the radio hums an ocean song, kuroo doesn't let go of his hand.

movement shocks them for only a second. kenma begins to speak, to say goodnight, to say thank you. kuroo starts to lean forward, only for a moment before jerking back like he's been electrocuted.

“sorry, what?” kuroo asks.

“you first.”

“no…”

“okay.” kenma squeezes his hand. “i was just gonna say thanks for the ride. sorry you spent your break on me.”

“it's no problem.”

silence weighs heavy on the car. not awkward, just heavy. “what were you gonna say?”

kuroo hesitates, then leans forward again. he kisses kenma gently on the forehead, whispers,  _ “goodnight.” _

 

a2.

kuroo finds him at seven twenty one in the evening.

“hey,” he says when he's walked the few parking spaces between his beat up car and the corner kenma has grown from, the same one where he fell asleep in kuroo’s lap. “got your text.”

“i see that,” kenma replies. his phone glows like lamplight in the dimming evening. the sky glows peach above them. “you're… sober?”

“yeah, you?”

“yes.”

kuroo lowers himself to the concrete. “what did you want to talk about?”

the poor boy fidgets, watching kuroo's long fingers drag against his legs. he wants desperately to reach out and grab them, hold them still, but he doesn't. instead he clears his throat, says bluntly, “i tried to kill myself,” then immediately winces. to his credit, kuroo remains the same, does not gasp or cry or react beside a slight raise of his eyebrows. “shit, that probably wasn't… the best place to start.”

“have to start somewhere,” kuroo allows. he reaches out to place one hand on the top of kenma's thigh, and he sighs at the touch.

“this isn't something i'm used to,” he rushes out. he knows this doesn't make sense, but he's never tried to do this before, really. akaashi was there for it all, all through middle and high school, and he still hasn't really told bokuto. his prying only made kenma more reluctant. and shouyou, if he’s being honest, is really only around for him to buy adderall off of.

but kuroo doesn't push, doesn't pry, just sits quietly with his hand on kenma's leg, warm through his jeans.

_ “this _ as in… all of you.  _ fuck.  _ just you're so… nice, and slow, and quiet, you don't yell or get mad or ignore me or…” he trails off again, digging gentle crescents into his palm.

kuroo knows somehow, asks the silence, “who did?”

he expected this. “my… parents.” always. “i was never what they wanted, so i just became nothing. do you know what that's  _ like?” _ kenma's voice breaks, and he falls silent.

kuroo scoots closer, and kenma allows the hand on the top of his thigh to shift, rest more on the inner part.

“do you know what it was like?” he whispers. “i lived every day like i was completely alone. like it was just me and my head, watching normal kids make friends and go on dates and play sports. i felt so distant. like none of that was for me, like i wasn't allowed to enjoy it for some reason.”

“do you still?”

kenma flinches, shrugs. “i run from it.”

“...i see.”

“when i was in my first year of high school, i tried to join the volleyball club. for something to do, for friends, i wanted to be  _ normal. _ but the third years were assholes.”

kuroo played volleyball all through high school. he feels like this may be a poor time to mention it.

“they hated me, for some reason. singled me out like no one ever had. they made me do all the extra work, stay late, clean up, run more, work harder… some sick part of me was kind of pleased with the attention. probably why i stayed for so long, even though most of me fucking hated it. i just needed  _ someone  _ to pay attention to me, it was fucking killing me. i was –” he stops, stutters. this is… hard.

“take your time,” kuroo murmurs.

he hears keiji, like a tinny recording in his ears.  _ “breathe, kenma, take it easy, take your time.” _

deep breath. keep going. “i was taking a bath after practice one day… just went under. inhaled a lot of water. keiji only found me cuz he was dropping off some school work. i skipped class a lot, i don't know. didn't really see the point when i could just do all the work at home.”

kuroo’s hand shakes somewhat on kenma's leg. he has nothing to say.

“keiji found me and gave me cpr while he waited for an ambulance. told me i coughed up half the ocean.” kenma sniffles, realizes with a shock that his cheeks are wet. his chest is shaking; this is so much harder than he thought.

“if you need to take a break, you can,” kuroo murmurs, and kenma is so, so grateful. his shuddering lungs turn to full body convulsions, and again kuroo pulls him between his legs. he sits in his arms, shakes and shakes and shakes until he can breathe again.

“keiji started spending more time with me, after that. we were in the same class, but we didn't normally speak. he lived close by, brought me my assignments, that was it.”

they fall silent again. kuroo rubs his scalp, kenma closes his eyes and just lets himself be held. eventually the silence stretches too long to be filled again, and kuroo asks in whispering vines if he would like to come back to the apartment.

kenma only nods.

 

a3.

at akaashi's insistence, kenma is drinking water.

it's eleven forty nine at night, and he's half sunken into kuroo and bokuto's old couch. kuroo sits beside him, warm arm resting around his waist, stroking patterns on his thigh. he's laughing, rumbling and content at something stupid bokuto has said. every now and then he'll drop a light kiss on kenma's hair.

kenma is content to just drink water, if he's being honest. he has an extra help session tomorrow, early, and he doesn't need anything getting in the way of him actually waking up. besides, watching everyone else get drunk when he's not is very funny.

kuroo slams his empty glass on the table, then sits back with a contented sigh. he reaches his other arm around kenma, squeezing him against his chest with more delighted humming. kenma smiles a secret into his shoulder.

“hey!” bokuto shouts. kenma flinches on instinct, but kuroo just glances over. “are you guys dating yet, or what?”

he flushes immediately, cheeks carnation pink. he's as interested in the answer as bokuto is.

“doesn't concern you,” kuroo replies, light as an ocean breeze.

“the slow burn is  _ killin’ _ me, man!” bokuto whines.

kenma almost rolls his eyes.  _ how do you think i feel? _

to his left, akaashi sips primly at his wine, razor eyes watching all of them. to his right, kuroo leans more of his warmth into kenma, squeezing his side. he's never felt so safe.

“we are moving at our own pace,” kuroo tries and fails to annunciate, his words catching on a swollen tongue. “and we will get there when we get there.”

“so you  _ will  _ get there?” bokuto pushes. his salt and pepper feather hair rustles loose around his face, catching light and holding it until his eyes glow with interest.

kuroo sits back, all unbothered as if kenma is not about to vibrate out of his skin. “maybe.”

bokuto's attention snaps to the left. “kenma!”

“what.”

“y’all buckin?”

he chokes on his water.

akaashi nearly snaps his wine glass.

kuroo is  _ howling. _

_ “no!”  _ he snaps, carnation pink bleeding crimson. “we just… hang out.”

“and do  _ what?” _

kenma clams up, always unwilling to give into bokuto's nosy pushing, but kuroo sweeps right in to answer. “whattaya mean ‘do what?’ we just chill. smoke and dance and shit.”

bokuto spends an almost absurd amount of time considering this, rolling his drink around in his hands before he swallows both the contents and the idea. kenma notes how akaashi’s own wine eyes follow the movement of his throat as he does.

“you two are cute,” bokuto announces. “be good to each other.”

* * *

b1.

kenma finds him at twelve forty six in the morning. it's a quiet thing.

kuroo is smiling, seated on top of the same low wall where they met for the very first time. it happens to be the wall outside kenma’s dorm, graying concrete stained with cigarette burns and spilled alcohol.

“hey,” kuroo whispers. wind ruffles his jacket, and kenma catches a glimpse of his shoulders around the black tank top.

“i don't want to go anywhere,” kenma confesses in lieu of a greeting. “i'm tired.”

kuroo doesn't comment on the bluntness of it, just tilts his head and asks plainly, “do you want me to leave?” he's unoffended, open and kind.

“no!” the thought aches. “you can come up. to my dorm. i mean if you want to.”

laughing softly, kuroo stands. “i want to.” he takes kenma’s hand. his fingers are warm and dry and kenma does his best not to think about what they feel like on his waist, hot and soft and –

“okay. um. this way, then.” they walk.

kenma is used to seeing kuroo outdoors, half of him glowing in streetlights or softly lit by his apartment lighting, the car dashboard, club lights. it's jarring, seeing him in the harsh fluorescent lights of kenma's dorm. he doesn't look as tan, but his smile glows the same.

it's a little embarrassing how bare bones his dorm is. just his bed, desk, closet, and every inch is a wreck.

“no roommate?” kuroo asks, eyeing the empty bed as kenma boosts himself up on his own.

“dropped out.” he doesn't offer any further explanation.

“hm.”

“do you wanna… watch a movie?” he’ll be the first to admit that he's not exactly experienced with anything outside of getting fucked up, but movies are a good choice, right? he doesn't have to talk at least.

kuroo agrees with a hum, sitting beside him and leaning back casually against the headboard as he crosses his ankles. watching kenma struggle with getting the tv to mirror his laptop pulls a laugh out of him.

they lazily bicker over the movie. kenma wants something animated, kuroo wants something with american actors. kenma wants soft, kuroo wants explosions, kenma wants quiet, kuroo wants electric guitars. they settle on akira, because kenma has started it four different times and fallen asleep every single time.

besides, they're only five or six minutes in when suddenly kuroo turns, his face soft and open and warmly close. the air in kenma’s lungs turns to sugar as the laugh melts on his tongue. with their lips hovering impatiently apart, kuroo exhales, “can i kiss you?”

that's all it takes.

a nod shivers down kenma’s neck, and kuroo’s high tide lips descend on his.

he tastes like the ocean, like salt and pine and thankfully not like weed. it's a light kiss, breezy and innocent, and it's certainly not kenma’s first but it feels like it may as well be, like every other one before this has been hollow and empty and only now can he see this for what it's meant to be. every other kiss he's given and received has been a means to an end, an exchange. a kiss for a small bottle. a few for a bowl. a little something more and he gets a whole quarter. a good system, in his mind.

he's never been kissed like that's all that's expected of him. it's freeing. every slide of kuroo's lips, every small suck and nip of teeth is done because that's just what he wants to do. he doesn't want a notch in his belt, doesn't want weed or alcohol or simply to feel something. he just wants kenma.

 

b2.

kuroo finds him at four fifty in the afternoon. it's raining, and kenma is hunched beneath the library bus stop again, glaring tiredly at pedestrians as he burrows into the stripes of kuroo’s ugly hoodie.

it's a quiet thing.

“hey, you,” kuroo smiles.

kenma flinches, then slowly raises hollow eyes to stare at him. he doesn't respond, just blinks slowly and lets his eyes slide to the side of kuroo's face.

“how… are you doing?” he tries. sliding a step closer causes kenma to jerk back again, so he stops, frozen and confused and half standing in the rain.

a cracked sound falls from kenma’s lips, and he closes his eyes like he doesn't have the energy to keep them open or squeeze them shut.

“let me drive you somewhere,” kuroo offers. he's at a loss of what else to do. “don't take the bus, my car is right around the corner.”

he makes that awful, rusty sound again, then nods.

kuroo doesn't try to touch him on the short walk to the car. he leaves space between them on the sidewalk, lets the boy curl up in the back among the hoodies and fabric instead of the empty passenger seat.

_ he's in a mood, _ is what he sends akaashi as he starts the car.  _ should i take him home? _

  1. drive around for a while. it gives him time to collect himself. he likes the motion of the car.
  2. it doesn't matter where he is exactly, so long as he's with someone he trusts.
  3. don't force him to speak.
  4. stay with him.



it always seems to be stay with him.

not that kuroo minds.

he drives for a long time. criss crosses through campus, downtown. makes his way into the more residential district, then the touristy district, then finally the business district. he passes the main shopping street, the square with live music and restaurants. he passes student housing, both on and off campus, and locks the doors when the cars lining the sidewalk begin to have more rust than bumper stickers. he passes the school bookstore, a cafeteria, the library again.

when he glances in the mirror and sees kenma sitting up instead of curled into himself, he starts heading back to the dorms.

the room isn't as trashed when kenma leads him inside. it's messy, sure, but the floor can be seen in most places, and the trash is gone. kuroo doesn't comment, just stretches his long limbs on the bed and holds his arms open. kenma falls head first like a felled tree, shaking and clinging to anything he can get his hands on, wrapping around kuroo like a boa constrictor. a leg hooked under his knee. both hands fisted in his shirt. face buried in his neck.

they hold on.

“what's the matter, baby?” kuroo murmurs.

kenma continues to shake. “please kiss me.”

that's (almost) all it takes.

“you're sure?” kuroo whispers.

kenma only nods.

so he does. kuroo pulls back until kenma's face is no longer hidden, tilts his chin up with one hand, and kisses him long and deep and gentle. but kenma isn't going for gentle. desperation sings in his bones and he pushes closer, moves his lips and his hands in an almost frantic attempt to not leave a single inch untouched. kuroo tries to slow him down, ease him back, but it's a lost cause. what kenma wants is a distraction.

kuroo relents. he rises and rolls until he's lying above kenma, trailing kisses with a wake of fire down his cheek, over his jaw, finds his pulse. it thrums a hummingbird beat beneath his lips, light and quick and kenma practically yells when kuroo's canines find it. he doesn't bite too hard, not enough to leave a mark, but then his lips close over the skin and he starts to suck, licking the skin in his mouth as it turns from peach to plum.

kenma is clawing at his back, keening high pitched and  _ thrilled  _ as his little hands wriggle beneath kuroo's shirt. kuroo pulls back long enough to rip it off, then purrs, “can i get rid of this?” in kenma's ear. he's dragging the boy’s shirt down by the collar, slowly, painfully, and kenma is seconds from imploding when he nods vigorously. it's removed, and then kuroo's lips are everywhere. all across his neck, collar bones, chest, kuroo's lips stain his skin pink and brown and purple. kenma is practically sobbing.

when the shaking gets too bad, kuroo takes the opportunity to slow down.

he releases the skin in his mouth with a pop, and just when he's about to dive back in, he stops. lips hovering above kenma's pulse, he lets him suck down air like a drowning man, as he regains his breath. kuroo tilts his head more, fitting more easily into kenma's neck, and starts peppering him with feather kisses. he ghosts over the skin he's marred, murmuring sugar seeds between kenma's panting breaths.

“stop,” he finally gasps, “kuro stop, or i'm gonna scream.”

“you want a turn?”

_ “yes.” _

in a second, kenma's small body has flipped them over, sitting comfortably on kuroo's hips as he goes to town on his neck and chest. kuroo gasps, arches, tries desperately not to buck his hips because he wouldn't want it like this: a distraction, empty, carnivorous. he hisses a curse in korean, again in japanese, switches back when kenma bites a spot that makes him see stars.

kenma seems to run out of steam after the fourth or fifth mark. he pants into kuroo’s collarbone, breath hot and wet but kuroo doesn't mind. he tilts his head to press his lips to kenma’s hair.

“kenma,” he murmurs.

“mm.”

“i love you.” it's a quiet thing.

kenma only nods, hopes it’s enough to say,  _ i love you too. _

 

b3.

bokuto takes one look at them in the ten fifty one am sunshine and bursts out laughing. kenma bypasses his usual carnation pink to go full body rose.

“you two look like you got mugged!” bokuto howls. kuroo sends him a wink.

“i suppose it's lucky you no longer have a roommate,” akaashi muses to his tea.

kenma gathers the hood of kuroo's ugly striped hoodie around his neck and glares at his toast as kuroo tosses an arm around his shoulders. he's grinning behind the fabric.

* * *

c1.

kenma finds him at eleven eighteen am.

he sits, tense and shrinking, as kuroo marches up and down the hallway, red faced and pulling at his hair. a plastic cup rolls in front of him with the wind from the window, and kuroo actually kicks it away with a punctuated shout. it sails just above the tile until it hits the baseboard at one end, and kenma flinches.

he rather thought he was past all this.

instead he sits, shaking and glancing away whenever kuroo’s head strays in his direction.

  1. stay quiet.
  2. don't make eye contact.
  3. it will pass.



kuroo swallows another yell, the sound turning strangled and feral in his throat. kenma nearly sobs, ducking his head, as kuroo whirls around.

_ “fuck!” _ he finally explodes, kicking the bench across the hall. it doesn't shake as much as kenma. “fucking  _ shit,  _ what the fuck, how could she do that?!”

kenma has a litany of suggestions, but his throat is closing and his eyes are watering and his whole body is shaking, shaking, shaking.

“like okay, maybe it wasn't the best break up, and that's on me, but it was  _ a year ago,  _ for fuck’s sake! get over it! i didn't even  _ know _ you then!  _ bitch.” _

kenma glances down to the pictures on his phone, clenched tightly in his paper fingers. the screen has gone dim now, but it lights up again as he scrolls through the instagram post. a younger kuroo, maybe two years or so, grins cockily back at him in three of the five photos, wearing absolutely no clothing in any of them. some are full body shots. some are… close ups. kenma doesn't stare, doesn't smile, just flinches again as anger tears through kuroo.

“why would she even keep those?! cuz if it's blackmail, that's shitty, and if she still wants them, that's… that's just weird!”

jealousy starts to curl through kenma’s intestines at the thought of kuroo wanting someone bad enough to send them pictures like this. he certainly hasn't received any. not that he  _ wants _ them, by any means, but the fact that kuroo hasn't bothered sends second thoughts creeping like poison through his mind. is he just that easy? he locks the phone, fumbles it once, recovers, and then drops it to the floor.

the earth practically shatters around him as kuroo whips around at the noise, teeth bared and practically rabid, and kenma crumples toward the floor like a wilted flower.

the hallway is still as kenma waits, shaking, but nothing comes. no more yelling, no blows, only the smell of pine as kuroo takes slow steps closer.

“kenma,” he murmurs.

air rattles through his lungs.

“baby, look at me.”

fear rattles through his bones.

“kenma, sweetheart, i'm not mad at you.”

“i know,” he manages to choke out. he opens his eyes to see kuroo crouched on the ground before him. he's not so scary way down there, and kenma almost relaxes. “i know, sorry, it's just…”

kuroo places a light hand on his knee. it crawls like a vine up his thigh, and kuroo whispers, “i know.”

 

c2.

kuroo finds him later that day, at five fifty four in the evening. he's not scared anymore, but one of the less explicit pictures is still saved on his phone, and he sits staring at it. a stolen photo, taken with someone else in mind. of course, what kuroo had said was true: he didn't know kenma at the time. impossible for him to have been thinking about kenma, like the girl had accused him of when she posted them.

“i thought i'd find you up here,” kuroo says when he's stepped out of his car and settled himself in the shadowed corner.

kenma locks his phone, doesn't do it quick enough.

“what is – why do you have that?” he doesn't sound mad, at least, though kenma can't put an exact finger on the tone.

he's quiet for a moment. then, more venomous than he'd meant, “you must have really liked her.”

kuroo stares. blinks.

blooms into a laugh.

“that crazy chick?!” he grins, all lopsided and amused. (adoring.) “are you kidding? she was insane, man, but i was in my first year of college. she was hot, i don't know, she lived on my floor, i was just tryna get my dick wet –”

“– kuro –”

“– sorry. but kenma, i didn't care about her in the slightest. she was bitchy and rude and if her name wasn't right there on her instagram, i wouldn't even know it.”

kenma considers this, turns it over in his mind like a new leaf. “you cared enough to send her these.”

somehow, kuroo picks up on what he means. a slow grin creeps across his face. “are you jealous that i don't send you nudes?”

“no!” kenma squawks. then, quieter, “maybe. a little. i mean, i don't  _ want _ them, but…” he huffs as kuroo's long fingers land in his hair, rubbing gently at his scalp.

“i get it,” he says, not unkindly. “but you wanna know the biggest difference between you and her?”

he nods.

“i told you. with her, i just wanted to fuck. and that's not what i want from you.”

kenma feels suspicion making slits of his eyes. “really.”

to his surprise, kuroo starts to blush. “yeah… to be honest? i'm not super like… into… sex.”

slitted suspicion becomes wide eyed wonder. “you're not?”

“nah. s’called bein’ asexual.” kuroo’s looking away now, blushing harder and looking almost… upset? concerned, kenma scoots closer.

“what does that mean?”

he shrugs. “just means i'm not into sex.”

“but that girl?”

“i tried to  _ fix it,  _ kenma.” he finally hears the pain kuroo has been trying so desperately to swallow, cracking in his throat. “i tried… i thought there was something wrong with me. my friends back in korea were always like, ‘oh man, that chick’s so hot, i wanna bang her!’ and then when i started coming to school here, and i met bo and oikawa, all bo would talk about was, ‘akaashi is so beautiful, i'd take him out to dinner and then…’ and then he’d describe it, which was painful. and the most vulgar shit i'd ever heard oikawa say, he looked over at iwaizumi once and sighed, ‘i want him to raw me,’ and i almost died.”

a few tears leak out as he barks a laugh, and kenma shuffles closer, hesitantly brushing them off kuroo's cheeks. they fall to the ground sparkling like stars.

“i didn't get it. i found people attractive, sure, i got crushes like you wouldn't believe…” kuroo takes a shuddering breath, wipes his eyes again. “i like dates. i like… kissing, and making out.” his eyes flick to kenma's faded hickies. “a lot. but i didn't really…  _ want  _ any of that. sex stuff. it didn't seem particularly good or bad to me, i just wasn't comfortable having someone see me like that. i thought maybe if i tried it, my mind would change.”

kenma stays silent, holding kuroo's hand now, rubbing his fingers like he does when he's upset. “you were confused,” he offers.

“yeah. i guess. just kinda desperate. and she was too, to be honest. people kind of… make assumptions about me, y’know, cuz i look like this.” he gestures to his lidded eyes, soft gold like a low burning fire, his crooked grin, defined jaw. “people’ve been callin’ me a lady killer since i was like, six.”

“i get it.”

“yeah. so i… i met this chick at a party or something, we made out a little, and then all of a sudden she's  _ flooding  _ my snapchat inbox. constantly. and i thought, ‘what the hell, she's hot,’ so i went for it. sent her those, flirted my ass off, she decided we were dating… she was always so jealous. we were the most intense casual relationship ever. when we finally fucked, well, you don't need the details i guess, but i kinda avoided her after. she accused me of cheating, which i personally found hilarious, but.” he shakes his head. “i dunno. that's part of what pissed me off about earlier. she never picked a person to blame me of cheating with, cuz i never really showed much interest in anyone, but i guess i never deleted her off snapchat cuz she's been watching my story and you're always in it.”

“that's… wild,” kenma offers. he never imagined kuroo's past to be so dramatic.

“yeah. guess we’re both a little fucked up, huh?”

kenma considers this as he idly unlocks his phone. deletes the picture. it doesn't make him jealous anymore, after hearing that, and he has a month to recover it from the deleted folder if he so chooses. “i don't think you're fucked up,” he finally counters. “not liking sex isn't fucked up. i don't really… i'm not into it either.”

“you're not?”

kenma fidgets, thinking of all he's done for endless free alcohol and weed. “never done it for fun.”

a concerned look enters kuroo’s eyes at that, but when he opens his mouth all he says is, “it's not that cool. it's… squishy. and i don't know where to look.”

kenma lets out a sharp laugh at the unexpectedness of that, cutting a smile onto kuroo's lips as well. “hey, thanks for telling me.”

“yeah.” kuroo leans in, kissing him quickly on the lips. “yeah. thanks for listening.”

 

c3.

“i see things with you two are going well,” akaashi comments dryly as he pours himself a cup of tea, eyeing the unhidden marks on both their necks. it's only five oh five pm, but kenma is high as a kite, shoots a wink and a playful finger gun.

“kuroo tetsurou has found himself another vacuum cleaner!” bokuto cheers, then leans over closer to kenma to whisper, “he loves those things, man, don't let up.”

kenma blushes, carnation pink, and nods.


End file.
